


Family Politics

by AnnieVH



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Parenthood, Politics, Single Parents, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-13 09:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: Mr. Gold has been living a rather unambitious life since an illicit affair with Cora Mills backfired horribly. Nowadays, he'd much rather focus on raising his sons Neal, who has an affinity for breaking the rules, and Gideon, whose goth phase is taking too long. However, when the Mayor unexpectedly passes away, three women come to seek his advice and force him to make a decision about just how complicated he'd like his life to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** winterswanderlust prompted “Gold trying to give equal attention to his troublemaking sons” and what started out as a pretty straightforward drabble became... this.
> 
>  **Beta:** Maddiebonanafana

 

This was the absolute worst piece of news he'd received all day, and considering that the Sheriff had told him earlier that he'd arrested his son for vandalism – again! - that was a tall order. Gideon waited without saying another word, legs sprawled under the coffee table and his homework open in front of him. He didn't seem to understand the gravity of what he'd just said.

“Henry is dead?” he repeated at his youngest son.

“That's what Mrs. Mills said,” Gideon told him.

“Are you sure?”

“I'm... not. I wasn't there. Though I'm sure they checked.”

Behind him, Neal made an amused sound but refrained from making a funny comment. He was older and could tell that the situation was not one to be taken lightly, if not because someone was dead, because the people involved made the whole thing twice as complicated.

“But what did Mrs. Mills say when she called?” Gold pressed.

“She said... well, she was mad that you didn't pick up your phone, first of all.”

“I was dealing with your brother.”

“I still maintain there was nothing to deal with,” Neal said, stubborn as ever.

“You were caught red-handed vandalizing the side of the cannery building,” Gold reminded him.

“I wasn't _vandalizing_ it, dad, I was fixing it! I was going to make a beautiful graffiti mural that best represented the cannery.”

“Explain to me how does a penis represent the cannery?”

Gideon snorted. “Again? Can't you draw anything else?”

“It wasn't a penis! It was going to become a fish!”

“ _How_?”

“If the Sheriff had let me _finish_ it, you'd know.”

Gold rubbed his eyes, suddenly wondering if bailing his son out had been the right choice. Next time, he should let him sleep in a cell, that would teach him something about accountability.

“At the very least you could've tried to be discreet. Why did you have to do that in broad daylight?” Gold had asked him in the car. At this point, he wasn't sure what disappointed him the most, that his nineteen-year-old son continued to make the same mistakes over and over again despite knowing better, or that he continued to make them with such poor planning.

Neal had insisted that that was exactly the point he'd been trying to make to the Sheriff, that the wall was already ruined and poorly maintained by the cannery and the city. He was only going to cover something ugly and urban with _real_ art.

Well, now he was going to cover it with real coats of paint as part of community service.

“Doesn't matter,” Gold said, motioning at Gideon. “Continue.”

“There's not much more to say. She just told me to pass on the news that the Mayor passed away this afternoon and that you should call as soon as you got home.” Gideon paused, probably realizing that, in his eagerness to find out in just how much trouble his big brother was in, he'd let the news be forgotten until now. “Sorry for the delay. I'm sure she won't mind.”

“She will,” he said with certainty. Cora was not the kind of woman who allowed things to slide.

“Sorry, dad,” Neal said. “That was poor timing on my part.”

“That was poor judgment on your part, it's what it was,” Gold said, more harshly than intended. Neal didn't appreciate the tone but was wise enough not to pick a fight he couldn't win, especially when his father had just received terrible news. “Help your brother with his homework, I have to handle this.”

“I just have to write a poem, father,” Gideon said, a little cheerful over homework. “I got this!”

“Let your brother help anyway,” he said. The last thing he needed was another parent-teacher meeting where Mrs. Nolan wasted two hours of his time analyzing every line of Gideon's dark and demented verses. He'd much rather go at least one month before she called him to his office to insist that imagery such as “the open grave that swallows all” was clearly a cry for help, while Gold protested that it was only a sign that his son had been reading too much Edgar Allan Poe.

“But I thought you liked my poems!” Gideon said.

“Your poems are _fine_ , Gideon,” Gold said, without thinking. “But I think-”

Gideon cut in, repeating “ _Fine_?” and inserting much more disdain in that one word than necessary. “And you wonder why I'm always dressed in mourning.”

Gold threw his first son a pleading look.

“I got this,” Neal said, sitting right behind his brother. “You go deal with Cora.”

Gold gave him a nod and moved on to his study, though part of him would've been glad to postpone this phone call a little longer. This wasn't going to go well.

 

 

 

Cora's demeanor was composed, verging on offended that he'd sent all her calls to voicemail and then waited another two hours to get back to her. He'd have blamed it on Henry's death except that she was always like this. As far as Cora was concerned, compromises and concessions were a sign of weakness, so she made none. If she called, it didn't matter that your son had just been arrested for being an idiot, you put your life on hold and you picked up the phone.

He didn't dwell on apologies or condolences and went straight to the heart of the matter. Cora relayed to him that Henry had collapsed in the middle of a town meeting that afternoon, victim of an unexpected heart attack. He was pronounced dead before he even got to the hospital. The doctors were just as shocked as anyone else given that Henry led a reasonably healthy life, despite the stresses of being the Mayor of Storybrooke.

“You don't sound particularly heartbroken,” he noted.

“You don't sound particularly comforting,” she retorted, without missing a beat.

It might be inappropriate but Gold smirked to his empty study and he knew Cora was doing the same. It was easy to imagine her, dressed in black but already sitting in Henry's chair at the Mayor's office. She'd decorated it herself seven years prior and it reflected her impeccable, if a little aggressive, taste much more than his mild manner and simple ways. Her own office was just down the hall from her husband's, the title of Deputy Mayor written in golden letters on the door, but she hadn't spent nearly as much time or money making that space her own. She knew where she wanted to be, and it wasn't in her husband's shadow.

“Will I see you at the wake?” she asked.

“I doubt your husband would have wanted me there.”

“Well, he's dead.”

“How callous.”

“It is an unfortunate fact, my dear Rum, that we don't get a say in our own funeral. Besides, your absence would only get the people talking.”

“While my presence would...”

“They would surely talk _less_.”

Before he could agree or disagree, she asked him to hold on a minute and covered the phone with her hand. The muffled conversation that followed was impossible to make out but he could tell it was one of her daughters, possibly the eldest one judging by the quietness of their exchange.

 _Regina must be heartbroken_ , he suddenly realized. Cora's relationship with her youngest daughter was far from perfect but the girl absolutely idolized Henry.

“How's Regina?” he asked when Cora returned.

She went quiet for a moment, then said, “She won't let me help with the funeral,” sounding bothered for the first time. Then, unpromptedly, she added, “I wish she would.”

Gold couldn't claim to know Cora, not anymore, but he thought he remembered what sincerity sounded like in her voice and it was something very similar to this. Those might have been the only honest words he'd heard from her in years.

Not unkindly, he said, “She probably wants to spare you.”

That only made Cora scoff. “Don't be _nice_ , Rum. We both know it doesn't suit you. Will I see you at the wake or not?”

So much for trying to be comforting.

Gold tapped his desk as he thought. Cora did have a point, not showing up at all would only make him seem cowardly and weak, and towns like Storybrooke lived for moments like this when the powerful members of its community became an easy target. The alternative wasn't much better, though.

“You'll see me and my sons,” he promised. Having the boys with him would perhaps ease the gossip. People were going to talk but perhaps not as much if he showed up with his family and not as a lonely _divorcé_ who had a complicated past with both the widow and the deceased. It wouldn't take much to convince the boys either. Neal would do anything to get back on his good side at this point and Gideon... well, he'd love to see a real dead body in a real funeral. It wasn't like he'd never asked before.

“Good,” Cora said. “And after the funeral, we should talk.”

“What about?”

“Pressing matters.”

There was a pause and then he heard Cora giggle on the other side of the line as if she could sense his apprehension.

“Don't worry, Rum,” she said, right before hanging up the phone. “It won't be too unpleasant.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should point out that Brazilian and American culture are quite different when it comes to funerals and so I had to do some research on it. If I get anything wrong, let me know.

It shouldn't be this hard to pick a shirt and a tie, he was overthinking it. Gold could put on an ensemble without much thought in the morning and it was always right. Dressing for this funeral, however, was proving more difficult than it should be.

“Just wear black, you clot,” he muttered to himself, eyes going from the black shirt to the burgundy shirt that he'd laid down on his bed.

This should be a pretty straightforward decision but he still wasn't certain because black was _correct_ because it represented mourning but he wasn't in mourning. He didn't care for Henry Mills and everyone who knew his history with the deceased and, more to the point, his history with the widow, would know that he was only there for show. Burgundy was respectful and it wasn't trying _too_ hard but then people might say he didn't care _at all_ , which was a step too far. That Mr. Gold was perhaps secretly glad his competition was out of the way, and burgundy was close enough to red (it wasn't, but people are idiots) and what did that say about his intentions? Black though, black was for people who cared, and he didn't-

Neal shoved his head inside the bedroom. “You're not ready yet?”

“Are you?” he replied.

“Hell yeah, it's not that hard,” he said, walking in. His boy was practical. He owned one black suit and a dozen white shirts. As far as he was concerned, that was all a man needed and his father's attempts to persuade him otherwise had been fruitless. His three ties were variations of black – plain, dotted, striped – and he thought pocket squares were for blowing your nose. It took him four minutes or less to get ready while Gold was still standing at the foot of the bed, debating over black or burgundy.

“I'm making a decision.”

“It's a funeral, dad, not a date,” he said, and Gold could hear an implied question there that he didn't like.

He picked the burgundy and to hell with what other people might say. Henry would've hated this no matter what he wore.

Neal stepped in. “You're doing okay, right?”

“Yes.”

“Because this is Cora and Henry and I was thinking-”

“Is your brother dressed?”

“I suppose.” He stepped into the corridor and asked, loudly, “Hey, hot topic, you ready?”

“ _Almost, criminal mastermind!_ ” came the voice down the hall.

“Don't call your brother criminal!” Gold shouted back. “It'll only encourage him.”

Gold had moved on to knot his tie ( _Windsor or half-Windsor?_ ) when Gideon came into the room as well. It was one of the few instances when Gold was glad that everything his youngest owned was black because it made this whole process much easier than if he had to convince his fifteen-year-old to dress accordingly. He'd probably be better dressed in his three-piece suit than most grown men at the funeral.

“Aw, look at Giddy,” Neal cooed. “You look like an adult!”

“And unlike you, I can behave like one.”

Gold felt an unpleasant squeeze in his stomach. He did look like an adult, especially because he was already so tall. _They'll probably stop asking for his ID in pubs in a year or two and then I'll be in trouble_ , he thought. He'd spent Neal's entire adolescence picking him up in places he was not supposed to be and, if his little brother decided to follow in the same footsteps, there was nothing he could do.

“What the hell did you do to your tie?” Neal asked, unshaken by Gideon's tease.

“It's called an Eldredge knot, do you like it?” he said, proud of himself. “I looked it up online.”

“Do a Windsor, Gideon,” Gold said. “That's too flashy for a funeral.”

“You're wearing red to a funeral and I can't try a different knot?”

“It's burgun- You're right.” Gold started unbuttoning his shirt. “Of course you're right. What the _hell_ was I thinking? Go wait downstairs while I change.”

They didn't move.

“Boys, please, we're going to be late.”

“Are you trying to look good for Cora?” Gideon asked.

Gold stopped working the buttons on his shirt, his dilemma momentarily forgotten. “I beg your pardon?”

“What happened to approaching the subject tactfully?” Neal asked his brother.

“You weren't saying anything. I thought this was the best opportunity to-”

“What are you both talking about?” Gold said, baffled that the subject even came up, let alone that his sons had been discussing it behind his back.

“We were just wondering if you had any intentions of getting back together with Cora,” Neal explained.

“Of course not.”

“Wouldn't be adultery this time around.”

Gold glared at him.

“I'm just pointing out that you stand a better chance.”

“We agreed we wouldn't support this, Neal,” Gideon said. “Do you want Cora Mills to be your new mother?”

“God no! That woman hates me!” Neal said, horrified at the prospect. “But if that's what dad wants-”

“What dad wants,” Gold cut in, “is to get through this funeral with his dignity intact. You'd know this if you'd bothered to ask.” He picked the black shirt from the bed, leaving the burgundy crumpled on the floor, lacking the energy to pick it up and fold it. “That was seven years ago and the hell I'm allowing this town to make my family the butt of the joke again.”

“It wasn't that bad, father,” Gideon said, just because it was the kind of thing people said when they were trying to make someone else feel better. Or maybe he'd been too young to fully grasp what had happened between his father and the Mayor's wife. Gideon had been only eight at the time. How do you explain to a child that young that a messy divorce had led to a poor decision and now everyone was talking about his father?

Neal, on the other hand, was old enough to understand it all too well and be angry about his father's stupidity.

“God, why didn't you delete the texts?” Neal had asked him, repeatedly and increasingly loud. “Why didn't you just do that? It's not that hard!”

This time, Neal didn't seem willing to bring out past wounds and picked up the burgundy shirt from the floor to fold it himself. It was a kind gesture on his part since he'd much rather toss clothes around than fold them.

“You sure you don't want to stay home?” he asked. “We can go in your place. I mean, Gideon is dying to see a real funeral so you won't be able to hold him back either way, and I don't mind it.”

“Not going is worse,” Gold said. “They'll talk either way, I'd rather control what they're going to say. 'Gold is hiding in his house' is much worse than 'Gold picked the wrong shirt because he's got a thing for the widow' – which I don't, before you both get the wrong idea. Where did I put my tie?”

“Here, try this one instead,” Neal said, fishing one out of his closet. Black tie, burgundy stripes.

Gold felt a heavy weight suddenly lift from his shoulders. “That's perfect. Thank you.”

“If I have a better fashion sense than you, then this is really messing with your head,” Neal said, tying it around his neck himself, thus liberating his father from wasting another thirty minutes overthinking the knot because Neal only knew how to make a simple one or a Windsor. He chose the latter. “There. You look handsome and dignified.”

“Yes, now I do,” Gold said, skeptical. “Let's see how I look when this whole thing's over.”

 

 

 

The only church in Storybrooke was not meant to accommodate the entire town but right now it was trying to. It seemed that every citizen had come to say their goodbyes to their beloved Mayor and the small building was packed. All the pews were already taken, the few high-ranking officials in town sitting at the front, all of which Gold knew by name and none had had many kind words to say about Henry Mills in life. “Weak-willed” and “his wife's puppet” were the usual terms of endearment of their choice. Still, there was a clear hierarchy in town and while everyone wanted to pay their respects, some people mattered most.

He could see Albert Spencer (the only Prosecutor in town), the Sheriff and his wife, Mother Superior (though her nuns were made to stand to the side), Sidney Glass (who was in charge of the local newspaper), Dr. Whale (the head of surgery at the hospital), and even Dr. Hopper (who had no official title but would look comforting if Sidney Glass had permission to take pictures). Normally, he'd be counted among them, but not today.

Flanked by Neal and Gideon, he made his way to the widow and her daughters, all three of them looking beautiful even in grief. Zelena was the first to reach him, though he'd much rather she'd ignored him completely. She was the tallest of the family and looked like the odd one in the group with her flaming red hair and radiant smile. Her black dress was barely appropriate for a funeral and Gold wondered if everything she owned was low-cut or if she placed vanity above sorrow over her step-father's early demise.

“I'm so glad you could make it, Mr. Gold,” she said, as if welcoming him to a birthday party.

Gold nodded and moved along. When Neal came to shake her hand, she had turned cold.

Cora stood next to her husband's body. The face behind the veil was tear-stained just enough to show grief without compromising her beauty. She'd chosen a pantsuit for the occasion, denoting that this was all just business and not a private affair to appease her pain. She'd been contemplating what was left of Henry until she heard Zelena mention his name, then she turned to face him with an eagerness that matched her daughter's. Her hand clutched his and she stepped closer to press the side of her face to his cheek and blow a kiss near his ear. He could tell that people were looking now and he did his best to keep a straight face, though he could feel heat crawling up his collar.

“It's good to have you here, old friend,” she whispered. Gold told himself the sound of her voice so close to his ear didn't entice inconvenient memories but that was a lie. He let go of her hand with a quiet, “I'm sorry about Henry, Cora.”

He took a step closer to the coffin – mahogany, expensive, shiny, for show, something Henry wouldn't have chosen for himself – but didn't give the body much more than a glance. Right behind him, he heard Neal tell Cora, “I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Mills.” Gideon shook her hand but didn't say anything before coming to stand by his father.

“He looks calm,” was all that he said.

Gold gave Henry Mills another glance. It was true. Mr. Happ at the funeral home had done a good job. Henry looked serene, more so now than he had in life.

“Come, son, let's give the family some privacy,” he whispered to Gideon and both stepped down.

Suddenly, Regina was blocking his way.

Of the three, she was the only one who looked sincerely devastated. Her dress was modest for someone who preferred to make a statement with every choice she made and usually valued the loud and the bright over the quiet. She'd also chosen a veil for the occasion but hers was barely enough to cover her eyes, which were red from crying and glaring at him with fierce hatred.

Beside him, he could feel Gideon tensing. Despite the anger in her eyes, Gold said what he'd planned for the occasion at home, which was short and to the point.

“Regina, I am truly sorry for your loss,” Gold told her, holding her hand instead of shaking it. “Your father was always proud of the woman you became.”

Regina stared back at him and Gold thought that maybe she was too angry or too shocked to say anything, which he'd much prefer, but then she spoke.

“Perhaps you could say a few words, Mr. Gold. Daddy would've appreciated that.”

Gold's eyes flickered to Cora, who was now looking at her youngest daughter with a stern expression.

“I don't believe that would be appropriate, Regina,” Cora said.

“You've already screwed him, Mother!” Regina snapped, loudly, making heads turn. “I don't think either of you can decide what's appropriate or not.”

Ruby Lucas, standing just ahead with her grandmother, gasped loudly in the silence that followed. In his seat, Albert Spencer was smirking. Neal held his father by the arm as the Mills women stared each other down and announced, “We'll find a seat, thank you!” and dragged both his father and younger brother away from them.

“So much for dignity,” Gold whispered to his sons as he limped to the back of the church, pretending not to see the looks people were throwing them.

“Do you want to go home?” Neal offered.

“Desperately, but the hell I'm leaving after that.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Following Regina's outburst, the sound of people talking quieted down considerably. With any luck, the service wouldn't take much longer to start. Gold and his sons found an empty spot, conveniently near the door because Neal hadn't given up hope his father would stop acting so stubborn and just go home. They leaned against the wall and waited, along with a procession of people who were either too late or too unimportant to get a seat. If anyone tried to ask Gold about what had happened he'd probably storm off but they were standing right next to the florist and his daughter, neither looking particularly interested in them as they whispered to each other.

“I don't see why they have to make such a spectacle of things,” the florist said, sounding frustrated. “These people didn't even know Henry.”

“Don't say that, dad,” his daughter said, always the nice one in the family. “People are just being respectful.”

“I think it's a domino effect, Mr. French,” Neal said. “One person decides to say something nice to the widow, then the next one comes along and, before you know it, everyone has to do it because it's awkward otherwise.”

“I'm sure they'll start the service in just a few minutes,” she said.

“I _liked_ Henry,” her father said. “I'm just saying he'd have hated this mess. He was a practical man.”

“That he was,” she agreed, rubbing her arms to fight the chilly March weather that was coming through the open doors.

Gideon immediately stripped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. It was so much bigger that it seemed to swallow the small girl up. She still said, “Thank you, Gideon. How nice of you.”

“You're welcome.”

“You're raising quite a gentleman, Mr. Gold.”

“You hear that?” Gideon told his brother. “ _I'm_ a gentleman.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen don't brag.”

“You were the Mayor's campaign manager, weren't you?”

Gold was so busy dreaming of being somewhere else that Neal had to poke him in the ribs for him to realize the girl was addressing him.

“I'm sorry, Miss French, what did you say?”

She repeated her question. Gold took a moment to consider whether she was being funny or just conversational. He decided on a neutral answer.

“I was, the first time he ran for office,” he said.

“We were talking the other day,” she said. “He told me you were the reason he won at all.”

That surprised him. He didn't think Henry had spared him a good word or thought in seven years.

“Yes, well... he was easy to manage,” was all that he could say. It was a lie, of course. Leaving aside the fact that he'd been sleeping with his wife at the time, Henry Mills was idealistic and naive, two qualities that seldom bode well in a politician. Turning him into someone people would vote for had been the greatest challenge of his short-lived career.

“Did you ever think of doing it again?”

Her tone was still very candid and it led Gold to wonder if perhaps she'd turned a deaf ear on the gossip. Then, Moe scoffed quietly and his daughter shushed him immediately.

“What I mean,” she said, just to make it clear that she wasn't trying to torment him or drag the dirty details out of him, “is that Albert Spencer wanted to run for Governor a few years ago and you refused to join his campaign.”

Gold pointed at Neal. “That one started vandalizing buildings. I didn't have time for anything else.”

“Sure, blame me,” Neal said, but then used the opportunity to change the focus of the conversation. “You probably heard I got arrested, again.”

Moe French rolled his eyes.

 _What, you're the perfect parent?_ , Gold thought, though the answer to that question could very well be a yes. His daughter was well-mannered, beautiful and kind. She had put herself through college and then returned home to start working at the local library when everyone knew she could be off, seeing the world. Upon returning, it hadn't taken her long to find a good man who'd put a rather large engagement ring on her finger. All in all, Belle French was a well-adjusted human being without a criminal record and whose teachers had never been concerned about her depressing poetry. Her father was clearly doing something that he wasn't.

“I did hear about that,” she said. “I just don't understand how you could get arrested for vandalizing the cannery. I mean, you couldn't have made that wall worse even if you tried.”

“That's what I said, but apparently good intentions are worthless.”

“I thought you were arrested because your drawing looked too phallic,” Gideon added.

“ _Gideon_!” Gold snapped in a quiet voice.

His son looked clueless. “But it's true, father!”

“That's disrespectful, son,” Moe French said, looking very displeased, either because his language wasn't suitable to a funeral, or because he didn't like teenage boys making penis remarks in front of his precious daughter.

Belle, though, had to make an effort to stifle her laughter and even Neal was hiding a chuckle behind a hand. Gideon started laughing too and the man sitting on the pew in front of them looked back, looking affronted that anyone would dare laugh during a moment like this.

“The three of you better think of something sad, and do it fast,” Moe said.

“I'm sad, I'm so sad,” Belle promised.

But they continued to snicker behind their hands. Glad to finally have a reason to leave and take a breath, Gold told his sons to go outside and get some air, following them to make sure they calmed down. Belle did the same under the reproachable eyes of her father.

“The two of you need a lesson on funeral etiquette,” Gold said to his chuckling sons once they were outside and far from judgmental townsfolk.

“I blame him,” Neal said, pointing at his brother.

“I wasn't trying to be funny!”

“But you're laughing!”

“I'm only laughing because _you're_ laughing!”

“Will either of you _please_ stop laughing?” Gold begged them.

Belle was the first to get herself under control and she said, “I've read somewhere that giggles are a common reaction.”

“To dick jokes?”

“Neal, don't-” Gold tried, but the three of them dissolved into hysterics again. “Goodness sake! This isn't decent!”

His protests continued to be ignored. Belle had a point, though. Perhaps funerals and the threat of impropriety just made laughing too forbidden and, therefor, too irresistible.

He realized with dread that another man was coming closer and he had no idea how to explain why his teenage sons where having a fit – in fact, he feared Gideon or Neal might volunteer an explanation themselves and make things worse – when the stranger passed an arm around Belle and asked, “Well, well, what are we laughing about?”

Good, the fiance. Maybe he'd take his side on this.

Belle's giggling immediately died and she straightened up.

“It's nothing,” she told him. “Gideon said something silly, but don't ask him to repeat it or else we'll be out here all morning.”

“Ah! Wreaking havoc, boys? That's cool,” he remarked with a smile, eyeing the boys as they finally managed to get themselves under control. He shook Mr. Gold's hand, saying, “Kids are hell, right Mr. Gold?”

He nodded. For some reason Belle's fiance's name often escaped him. Gold knew he was the son of the Legumes but, other than that, he was drawing a blank. Not that anyone could blame him. That man was just as unremarkable as he was handsome.

Then, he looked at his fiance and asked, “Were you cold, sweetheart?”

“I was, but Gideon was kind enough to lend me his coat,” Belle said, and by the warning he could hear in her voice, it was clear that the jealousy in his question hadn't gone unnoticed. She might as well have said, _Don't you dare start or I swear to god..._

“Is that so? Well, thanks for keeping my girl warm, kid. But I'm here now, so...”

He started shedding off his own coat.

“I really don't mind, Gage,” Gideon said.

Belle was quick to say, “It's fine, sweetie. Thank you,” and return the coat to a disappointed Gideon. Beside him, Neal gave Gage a side look that was easy to read: he did not like that man. Gold could see why.

The silence that befell was tense. It was clear that the two lovers had had a row sometime before the funeral that wasn't quite over yet. Still, Gold would have preferred to be trapped here than inside the church.

“Wow, the church really looks packed,” Gage said, looking around, inviting people to agree with him. No one did. “It'll be hard to find a place to sit.”

“We'll just have to stand,” Belle said.

“Nah, I'm sure I can find us a place-”

“We got here late,” she told him, nipping the idea in the bud. “I'm not kicking anyone out of their seats.”

“Yes, people might think we're assholes,” Neal agreed, clearly directing the word at the fiance.

Gold felt his lips curling into a smile and looked away from the group. Gage didn't seem to notice.

“We should get back inside,” Belle said, and this time everyone nodded in agreement.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Gold had never had the impression that Regina was still furious at him but, apparently, he was wrong. Regina had always been a resentful woman. It was perhaps wishful thinking that she'd so easily forgive the adultery that had caused her dear father so much heartbreak and humiliation, not to mention that had destroyed the already volatile relationship she had with her mother. Not that Regina hadn't played a role into turning a private affair into a circus.

She'd never understood why Henry had refused to end a marriage that was clearly doomed to fail. She insisted that he should get a divorce but he wouldn't budge. He'd made a commitment for life and the affair was over now anyway. In a moment of blind anger and poor judgment, Regina had leaked the story to the local newspaper, thinking it might pressure her father into reconsidering it. It didn't, it only caused him more pain. But at least now Cora was just as humiliated as he was.

Gold had been nothing but a casualty. Just like now. Calling him out in front of his children and the entire community served no purpose other than upsetting her mother, and if Gold was upset in the process, that was just too bad.

As she delivered a heartfelt eulogy that brought tears to the eyes of everyone in the church, Gold hung on every word, waiting for her to snap again and make another crude remark. She kept to the script, though, and didn't even glance at him for the rest of the service. Her voice didn't waver and the tears that were prickling her eyes refused to fall down her cheeks. This wasn't about Gold or Cora, it wasn't even about her own pain. This was about honoring her father and all he meant to her and to Storybrooke.

Regina was followed by Cora, who presented a matter-of-fact list of her husband's accomplishments and dabbed her wet eyes twice. Her voice cracked towards the end and people seemed to be buying her mourning widow act. Gold didn't think it suited her. Anger might have become her better.

Zelena was next and her words were short and mostly made out of cliches such as “He's in a better place now” and “I will always remember him when I look at the sky”. After that, several member of the community shared stories of Henry Mills, including the Prosecutor, Mother Superior, and Granny Lucas, who was the only person in town who'd known the Mayor from childhood. Her words, even more than his daughter's, seemed to remind people of just how humble and kind Henry Mills was. All around him, people continued to cry. Belle French, standing only a few feet away from him, was sobbing into her fiance's handkerchief and holding on to his arm as if her legs might give in at any moment. She looked more upset than most people sitting in the first row.

 _If Cora wanted a good picture_ , he thought, _she should've invited her to sit at the front._

“I didn't know Belle and the Mayor were close,” Neal whispered to him. Even his eyes were becoming a little watery.

Gold shook his head. “I don't think they were. Death is just upsetting to some people.”

“I suppose.”

It occurred to him to check on Gideon, maybe he was finding this whole thing just as upsetting as the girl but, upon examination, he realized his son seemed to be reacting the exact opposite of Belle. He'd gone so quiet and still it was like he wasn't listening anymore. Even Neal must have noticed it because he asked, “You okay there, Gid?”

The answer was “Yes” in that tone both of them were quite used to. He didn't want to be pushed or even talked to. Neal dropped the subject.

For the next two hours, Gold stood on edge, expecting Regina, or anyone else for that matter, to take the opportunity to pester him but it seemed that Regina had taken the vindictiveness out of her system and no one was paying attention to him. In the end, the coffin was carried away without him having to say another word.

It wasn't until the first shovel of dirt fell on Henry's pristine casket that Regina started sobbing again. Even from a distance, he could see tears in Cora's eyes. She wiped them away so quickly it led him to believe she hadn't planned for those.

To his left, Neal held on to his wrist and sighed, “Poor Regina...”

To his right, Gideon crossed his arms and didn't say a word.

Gold found himself caught in the middle of his sons, standing to the side as they shoveled dirt onto Henry Mills, finally putting him to rest. Gold had never felt sorry for what he'd done, even though he knew, due to his own wife's infidelity, that he'd hurt that man deeply. Cora was a grown woman and Milah had moved away with her new lover long before he'd taken her to bed. He wasn't Henry's friend, rather a work associate. His actions might have been immoral, yes, but they hadn't been premeditated or done with the intention of hurting him. But suddenly... he was aware that he hadn't made much of an effort in life to make it up to Henry.

That was probably the closest he would get to grief.

 

 

 

Making their way through the crowd was difficult, but not as difficult as getting the Cadillac to move. The entire town seemed to have parked in front of the church, or rather double-parked. Now everyone was trying to work their way out of the mess they'd made at the same time, resulting in quite a mess.

“I bet Henry is laughing at us somewhere,” Neal said, as their car was finally allowed to move an inch.

“Henry never laughed at anyone,” Gold said. “He was too nice.”

“Yeah, I suppose you're right.”

Gold tapped the steering wheel, not really caring about the unexpected delay. His main concern right now was Gideon. In all of this fuss, plus his son's obsession with dead things, he'd failed to realize Gideon was only fifteen and, like every young person, didn't have a good grasp on the concept of death. Neal was different, he was a cynical boy. Gideon was softer. Perhaps now the reality of it was finally sinking in. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the church.

“I can drop you boys at home,” Gold said, eyeing his youngest son on the rear view mirror. “There's no reason why you should come to the gathering. It's going to be very dull.”

“We don't mind, dad,” Neal said. “We're already here.”

“Gideon? Do you want me to drop you home?”

Gideon shrugged and looked out of the window. Slowly, he retrieved a tiny notebook from his pocket and started scribbling.

“What do you have there?”

“Nothing.”

Neal seemed to understand what was going on and said, “I'll keep an eye on him.”

In the rear view mirror, Gideon scowled, “I'm not a baby,” but continued to write. He always did that when he was upset, Gold wasn't sure whether he liked it or not.

After nearly an hour, the Cadillac was finally freed from its parking space and he drove the short distance to the Mayor's house. Were it not for his leg, as well as his wish to stall, he'd have covered the distance on foot and retrieved the car later.

Fewer people had been allowed into Cora's private gathering but Neal had told him he'd heard from Ruby Lucas that there was going to be an informal potluck dinner at Granny's for the people who wished to mourn Mayor Mills together. Truth be told, if he truly wanted to mourn Henry he'd have gone to the diner, it might have been more honest than what greeted them once they arrived.

People didn't look sad. They looked solemn, wearing the measured grief on their faces like a mask as they whispered to each other. Waiters were circling, handing glasses of champagne and canapes. Not that Gold believed that people should only react to death through tears and devastation but this felt... indecent. Not a celebration of life, not a mourning of death, it was something else entirely.

Cora came to greet them at the door.

“I'm sorry, I'm having a problem with the caterers. But please, help yourselves.”

“We can't stay, Cora,” he said, which might be a little insensitive but to hell with it. He didn't want to mingle, he wanted to take Gideon home.

“I'll come find you in a moment,” she promised.

Gold didn't like the vagueness of that but she was gone before he had the chance to say anything. Just to the side, Albert Spencer and Ella Feinberg were summoning him over. He knew what was about to happen.

“Neal, take your brother outside, I have some people to deal with.”

“Are you sure you should-”

“I'll be fine. Go get some air.”

The boys sneaked away and Spencer motioned him over again.

_Might as well get this over with._

“Albert, Ella,” he greeted.

Spencer was at least going along with the “wear grief like you mean it” theme but Ella didn't bother to look upset at Henry's death. It was her belief that crying only made a woman ugly and she wouldn't stand for such a thing.

“Well, I didn't think you'd have the guts to show your face here but I guess I was wrong,” Ella said, not a hint of a reprimand in her voice. If anything, the situation seemed to entertain her.

“Now, now, Ella,” Spencer said, not without a smirk. “Let's be civilized.”

“I'm being civilized.” She downed the entire glass of champagne then waved at a waiter to get another one. “People talk. If it was me, I'd just take my brats to Disneyland for a month, or wherever it is that kids like to go these days. Do they still like Disneyland?”

Gold shrugged.

“Anyway, I'd wait for the people to get bored, it's what I'm saying, find something else to talk about.” Her next glass she sipped slowly at first, but then took a large gulp that emptied half of it. “Not that I'm blaming you, Gold. Cora used to be very good looking before age got the best of her. Men will do what they will when they see a pretty lady, that's what I told Henry back then, and it's not like she didn't marry him for money. But showing your face here, well, you have a backbone, I'll give you that.”

And down went the rest of the champagne. This was not her second glass, Gold could tell. While Spencer seemed amused, he was becoming displeased with Ella's bluntness and she noticed it but didn't care much for it.

“Don't be offended, Gold,” she said, looking around for the waiter. “We're all talking about it but it looks worse for her anyway. She was married to Henry- where is that blasted waiter?”

She stomped away to find more alcohol.

“I take it she only came for the refreshments,” Gold said.

Spencer laughed. “Either that or to see your face.”

“I hope she's amused.”

“I don't blame her. I was surprised to see you at the church,” he said, though in a more conversational tone than Ella.

“Where's Regina?” he asked, not wanting to dwell on the subject with Spencer, a man he wouldn't exactly call his friend.

“Regina and her mother had a row on their way here. She's hiding somewhere and Cora is trying to make sure things don't fall apart.”

Gold saw him smile behind the glass of champagne.

“You're enjoying this,” he stated.

“I'm not hating it,” Spencer confessed.

There was no love lost between the Prosecutor and the Deputy Mayor. As far as Spencer was concerned, his profession entitled him to special treatment in a town as small as Storybrooke, that's the way things go in small towns all over America. Men of the Law were just as good as politicians. Cora didn't see it that way and made sure to curtail every special privilege Spencer tried to get as a not so subtle way to knock him off his high horse. The two of them could work together, if necessary, and Gold knew of several favors that had been traded between them over the years, but they were not on friendly terms. It made sense that he'd only come to see Cora struggle to keep her neck above the water.

It wouldn't surprise him to find out that everyone in this gathering had an ulterior motive to be there either.

“I suppose I'll see you in court,” Spencer said.

“Why is that?”

“Your son got-”

“Yes, yes, I forgot all about that. Stupid boy.”

“I'm starting to think he enjoys community service. What is it, the second time, or-”

“Are you announcing your candidacy?” Gold asked.

“Are you offering your services?”

“I never bet on the underdog.”

Spencer covered his grimace with a sip of champagne. He was known and respected but people didn't like him. Spencer was aloof, the kind of man others resented due to his position, power and money. If he rallied around a cause – something loud and flashy that scared people, like immigration or terrorism – he might fool a large number of people into voting for him, but this was a small town. People wanted someone accessible who they could talk to in town meetings and who'd take the time to fix small problems.

“Oh, I don't know,” Spencer said. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“I told you running for Governor was a mistake. The GOP was never going to back someone with your history.”

“I took _one_ bribe, Rum,” Spencer muttered, displeased with that turn in the conversation. “Many congressmen do.”

“You should've done it more cleverly. You couldn't even beat Henry-”

“I didn't beat Henry because _you_ taught him what to say. I suspect I stand a better chance now. Or do you think Madam _Acting_ Mayor will get a lot of supporters?”

Gold frowned. “Did she announce-”

“Not yet, she's not stupid. But do you have any doubts she will?”

No, he had no doubts about that. It just hadn't crossed his mind yet, but now that it did, all the pieces fell into place.

“Oh no...”

Spencer looked at him. “What?”

“Will you excuse me?”

He left Spencer to his daydreaming and went looking for Cora. She was accepting the condolences of Jefferson Madder in her vast living room. When he turned around, Gold leaned into her ear and said, “I'm not doing it.”

She startled, then giggled when she saw him.

“Why must you always be so sneaky?”

“I'm not doing it, Cora,” he repeated, adamantly.

“What are you talking about-”

“Don't offend my intelligence, you know what I'm talking about. And the answer is no.”

She looked around then said, “Let's go into my office.”

“Because the gossip isn't insidious enough as it is, we need to get behind closed doors right after your husband's funeral.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “You were never this cowardly when we were sleeping together.”

“I was never this clever, you mean.”

She settled for motioning him over to a corner.

“Do you know what Henry said to me, all those years ago?”

“I never wondered about that.”

“Why did it have to be him?”

Just like Belle French before her, Cora caught him by surprise.

“He never considered you his friend but he had a debt to you. He was grateful for what you did. You were the one who got him elected Mayor. Before you came along-”

“I didn't come along, you roped me into it and I still can't believe I allowed you to-”

“It doesn't matter, Rum!” she snapped. The Sheriff and his wife, who stood a few steps away, both looked at them. Cora smiled at them until they had looked away. “Before you joined his campaign, he was a... diamond in the rough, a privileged boy from a family of overachievers who'd never done much with his life. You taught him what to say, how to behave, how to get what he wanted. You turned him into someone the people knew they could rely on.”

Gold didn't say anything. He'd turned Henry Mills from a bumbling idiot with good intentions into a politician, that much was true. So much so that, upon confronted by her husband regarding the affair, she'd ended things promptly. A campaign manager with two young sons had nothing on a Mayor, it seemed.

“He hated that I slept with you, of all people,” Cora continued, “because he knew what you'd done for him.”

“To be fair, I don't think he'd have been much happier had it been anyone else.”

“Don't be crude. I'm announcing my candidacy in a month and I want you to be my campaign manager.”

“You do love being the talk of town, don't you?”

She smirked. “There's no such thing as bad publicity. But if it bothers you, we can keep your role in my campaign between us. It will be our little secret.”

“Nothing stays secret in this town.”

A waiter with a tray passed them by and Gold snatched two glasses from it. He drained both of them before Cora had the chance to reach for it.

“Who's your Deputy Mayor?” he asked.

“I knew you'd be interested.”

“I'm not interested, I'm curious.”

“I haven't decided yet. I was hoping for your input. You know how I value your opinion.”

“What do you need me for? The people know you, you already have- oh...”

It dawned on him at once. The people knew Cora Mills. Spencer they didn't like but Cora they didn't trust. She was easy to fear and to take seriously, but she was also a woman with a better-than-thou attitude – a _bitch,_ why sugarcoat it? - and a salacious history. Her first daughter had been born out of wedlock and she'd cheated on her husband just before he took office. As competent and experienced as she was, as much as she could run this town with her eyes closed, people would overlook all things that mattered because she had an image problem. She wanted him to fix it. Discreetly, of course.

“There's nothing in it for me,” he said.

“That's not true,” she said. “You get to do what you love. You can't tell me that playing stay-at-home father for seven years is what you envisioned for yourself.”

“I'm not a stay-at-home father, I have a real estate business and a pawnshop, both of which demand a lot of my time.”

“Liar.”

“And, as you remember, I have two sons.”

“That's why you should help me.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, if my child was prone to getting into trouble as much as yours, I'd want to have a friend in the Mayor's office.”

“And you could be this friend?” he asked, skeptical. Cora wasn't known for her loyalty.

Her hand landed on his arm.

“I've always been your friend, Rum. Think this over – talk to your boys if you'd like – and get back to me on Monday. Will you think about it?”

Gold knew better than to agree but he couldn't deny that her proposition had tickled his interest.

“I'll think it over,” he agreed, bringing a smile to her face.

Cora walked away looking very satisfied. On the other side of the room, he saw Ella Feinberg smirking drunkenly at them.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

The guests were keeping to inside the house, where they could keep a close eye to the Acting Mayor and her daughters, and Gold was glad for it. Being forced to interact with Spencer and Ella was more than he'd planned for and he didn't want to repeat the experience. The only people outside were Neal and Emma Nolan, both loitering under the shadow of Regina's apple tree. Emma was smoking a cigarette and, upon closer inspection, so was Neal.

“It's a funeral, I can smoke,” he said, defensive, as he saw his father coming closer.

“Good. Can I bum one as well, Miss Nolan?”

Emma offered him the pack, saying, “Sure.”

After the conversation he'd just had – correction, after the last couple of days he'd had, he deserved to indulge in a guilty pleasure.

“Dad! _You_ shouldn't smoke!” Neal protested. “In your age-”

Emma laughed. “Hypocrite.”

“He's my father, I can be hypocritical!”

“Yes, and as your father, I can ignore you,” Gold replied, taking a long drag. Emma offered him a portable ashtray the size of a pocket watch. “Do your parents know you smoke?”

She shrugged. “If they catch me, I'm blaming it on your son. He's always been a bad influence on me.”

Neal smiled at her, just as proud of his reputation as he was smitten. Their relationship hadn't survived Emma's leaving for college and it was perhaps the greatest regret of Neal's life so far that he didn't have what it took to follow her to Yale. His grades had barely gotten him through high school and Gold suspected, though he'd rather not know for sure, that he'd cheated his way to a passable mark during finals.

Neal was a bright young man with a very creative mind. He was good at solving problems just as he was excellent at creating them, but he'd never been particularly remarkable in any field of study. The thought of college and what would come after graduation had filled Neal's senior year (and, as a consequence, his father's) with anxiety and uncertainty. It hadn't been a complete surprise when his college applications were all replied to with apologetic rejection letters.

In a way, his son was relieved. He wasn't really sure he wanted to study Law, or Architecture, or Business, or any of the dozens of courses he'd applied to. However, watching his friends and his girlfriend move on to the next step into adulthood while he was stuck at home had been a painful experience.

Gold had told him that it didn't matter, he hadn't gone to college either and things turned out fine. Neal could take a year off and think of what he really wanted to do. Five jobs and three arrests later, his melancholy had turned to recklessness and he didn't like to think what might happen to his son if he continued down this path.

“I stole your very first pack of cigarettes,” Neal told Emma, speaking fondly of the memory.

“I remember that!” Emma said, gleefully.

“Yes, so do I,” Gold said, sharing none of their nostalgia.

“C'mon, that pack of cigarettes was my way into her heart.” To Emma, he said, “Dad always said you were his favorite of all my girlfriends.”

“Yes, out of the two of them.”

Emma cackled at that.

“Thanks, dad. Perhaps you should smoke elsewhere?”

“Where's your brother?”

“I told him to go smoke somewhere else too.”

“ _What? Are you insane? He's fif-_ ”

“He's kidding, Mr. Gold,” Emma said, before he could have a heart attack. “Though I can see why you'd believe that's something he would do.”

“You have such a poor opinion of me, Em,” Neal said. “Gideon is fine. He looked a little gloomy and I tried to get him engaged-”

“Through means that don't involve a cigarette, I hope,” Gold said.

Neal ignored him and continued, “But he told me he wanted to be alone for a while so I told him he could take a walk, but to not leave the property. He should be at the front porch, I guess. Not many places where he could hide.”

“Let's go get him and go home.”

Neal eyed Emma. “We were... catching up. Haven't seen each other since graduation.”

“I need you to drive, I just drank champagne.”

“They have champagne inside?” Emma asked. To Neal, she whispered, “Maybe we can steal a bottle.”

“And your parents think my son is the bad influence. You can have fifteen minutes but then I want you at the Caddy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And no stealing!”

Neal looked at Emma. She looked every bit as devilish as he did and Gold wasn't holding his breath that they would keep to his orders. The sooner they left, the better.

As Neal had said, Gideon was sitting at the front porch but he wasn't alone. Belle was sitting beside him, her legs elegantly folded to the side where he'd brought his to his chest, trying to make himself look much smaller than he was. He was reading from his little notebook and Gold could hear the last sentence of whatever it was that he was reading.

“... _am I on borrowed time?_ ”

He closed it and looked at Belle.

“That is so beautiful, sweetheart,” she said.

“My teacher is going to hate it,” he said. “She thinks my poetry is too dark.”

“And what is wrong with a little darkness? You can't tell me The Raven isn't a piece of genius.”

“I guess...”

“Besides, you have a lot of feeling. You shouldn't ignore that just because it isn't pretty.”

“Everything alright?” Gold asked.

Gideon didn't look at him but Belle gave him a smile.

“Quite alright, Mr. Gold. Your son was just showing me his poetry. He's a very talented young man.”

“Is it the one with the crow? That's a good one.”

The one with the crow was a little whimsical, which was very unlike Gideon. It was perhaps the one poem that wouldn't result in a phone call from school.

“It's a new one,” Gideon said, quietly. “I wrote it in the car.”

“You should show your father. He'll like it.” Belle got up. “I need to go find Gage. I'll let you boys talk.”

“Okay. Thanks, Belle,” Gideon said.

“Thank you, Miss French.”

She disappeared inside the house to find her fiance. Gold took her place on the steps and ran his fingers through Gideon's hair. He wouldn't look up from the notebook but Gold could see he'd been crying. Gideon stiffed under his touch, like he used to do when he was very young and they'd just brought him home, a little boy who'd been hurt too much despite his young age.

“It's been a long day, hasn't it?” Gold asked.

Gideon sighed. “I guess...”

“Can I see what you wrote?”

Gideon's hands clutched the little notebook for a moment, then passed it over. He always carried one of these with him, claiming his thoughts came to him at the most unexpected times and he had to write them down before they vanished. He had so many notebooks Gold wasn't sure how he kept track of everything.

He opened to the page that was marked. His son's handwriting was shaky from the car ride, but still easy to read. Words had been scratched and rewritten but he could make sense of the end result.

 

_If this is all, am I ticking away?_

_If this is the fate of everything,_

_is there where I'll rest someday?_

_Under the earth, the stone, the grime,_

_Am I to lie in silence?_

_Am I on borrowed time?_

 

“It's not ready,” Gideon said. “The meter is all wrong.”

“It's probably the best you've written.”

Gideon seemed surprised by the compliment.

“I don't think Mrs. Nolan will get it.”

“What's new? Just write something about fluffy bunnies for homework, that will make her happy.”

Gideon would've laughed at that any other day. Not today, though.

“Death is weird,” he said.

Gold watched him for a moment, then said, “You know, the first funeral I went to was my mother's. I was younger than you.”

“That must've sucked.”

Gold thought back to this old memory. It had mostly faded, leaving nothing but traces of his mother's ghostly face, eyes perpetually shut, and his father's drunken sobbing. It still made his chest feel tight.

“It did. It really did. But it's good that you came with us today. Do you know why?”

He shrugged again.

“Because death is a painful thing. You have to get used to it slowly. It's best to start with a stranger than someone you love.”

Gideon looked at him.

“Which is not going to happen for a very, very long time,” Gold added, before his son could jump to conclusions. “Some things are just unpleasant, Gideon. That's just the way things are.”

Gideon turned the notebook in his hands and muttered, “I know. Can we go home now?”

“Of course, love. Let's just get your-”

“Mr. Gold?”

They looked back. Regina Mills was standing at the doorway. Her eyes were red from crying but her makeup had just been reapplied.

“We were leaving, Regina,” Gold said, tapping Gideon's shoulder to order him to his feet. “There's no need to cause a scene.”

“I'm not here to cause a scene. We need to talk.”

“What about?”

She looked at Gideon. “Inside.”

Gold hesitated. He didn't want to be berated once again in front of the most important people in town – wouldn't Ella Feinberg just love that? Regina didn't look hostile, though. In fact, that was the calmest he'd seen her all day.

“Gideon, go get your brother and wait for me in the car. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Gideon aimed suspicious eyes at Regina, but complied with a quiet, “Yes, father.”

Regina stepped away to let Gold into the house.

“Such a formal teenager,” she said, her remark lacking both in warmth and interest. Cora would've at least pretended to care.

“He likes to be respectful. What is it you want?” he asked, not wanting to waste time with chitchat.

“Not in here.”

She guided him to a side door, leaving the mourners and the caterers behind. It looked like a library, though Gold assumed it doubled as her personal office. She had a picture of her father on a desk, Henry's pleasant and friendly face smiling at the camera. No pictures of her mother or older sister anywhere. She took the photograph and looked at it for a moment and Gold feared she'd start crying again. Or stab him with the letter opener. With Regina you never knew.

“What is it that you want, Regina?” he asked again. “If this is about what happened seven years ago, I think it's time you-”

“Did my mother ask you to be her campaign manager?”

She was looking at him now, her father's picture (and, seemingly, her grief) momentarily forgotten.

“I heard you were talking,” she explained when he didn't give her an answer. “Was it about her campaign?”

“You should ask her.”

“I'm asking you. Though, since you refuse to give me an answer, I presume I'm right.”

“I'll leave you to your presumptions, then.”

He tried to turn around and leave, but she continued talking as though he was fully engaged in the conversation.

“You don't want to work for her.”

“If you disapprove, then you should talk to her. I'm not getting mixed up in your family feud.”

“You're the reason we have a family feud to begin with.”

“Goodness' sake, Regina!” he snapped, looking at her. “You can blame me for destroying your parents' marriage all you want, but I'm not the one who spread the rumors around.”

“I don't blame you,” she said with a little shrug. “No more than I might blame a knife, had my mother stabbed daddy in the back. When it comes to you, I'm indifferent.”

“You have a funny way to show it.”

She smirked. “Don't tell me that was humiliating? You usually have thicker skin than that.”

“You called me out in front of my sons.”

“Your sons are used to it by now- don't be daft, Gold,” she said as he turned to leave. “You're allowing your feelings to get the best of you.”

“That's rich coming from you,” he said, over his shoulder. He had no intention to continue this pointless exchange. “If you're done with your petty revenge, I'd like to-”

“Oh Gold, I'm only getting started.”

He'd reached for the knob on the door, ready to storm out, but the way she said that caught his attention. It might have been wiser to walk away, but something in her eyes drew him back in.

“What are you proposing?” he asked, trying to sound as uninterested as he could.

“Don't work for her. Work for me.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “You want to run for Mayor.”

It wasn't a question but Regina still said, “I do.”

“Just to spite your mother? A therapist would be less exhausting.”

“No, not to spite my mother.” Regina paused, then shook her head. “Very well, that is appealing, yes, but it's not the main reason. Daddy just died and she's already plotting to take his place.”

“She's already taken his place, Regina. She's Acting Mayor.”

“That's only a consequence and not a lasting one. The only reason she supported Daddy's political career at all was because she knew she could surpass him when the time came. And now his body is not even cold and she's already-” Her voice cracked but she didn't look away from him. Her eyes remained dry. Gold maintained eye contact, waiting for her to break away first. She didn't. “It's not right, Gold, even you can see that. And if she runs, no one is going to be brave enough to stand up to her. I am. Daddy would've wanted me to follow in his footsteps.”

It didn't matter how she tried to spin this, it still sounded like she was craving for vengeance.

“You don't have experience. Your mother does,” he said.

“I have a degree in Political Science and I've worked for Daddy's administration for six years.”

“You're the press liaison, Regina. She's the Deputy Mayor.”

“A Deputy Mayor that people hate.”

Gold smirked. “Are you under the impression you're beloved by many, dearie?”

That didn't seem to offend her. Regina wasn't the kind of woman who took public opinion to heart, which was perhaps just as much an asset as it was a detriment. She was a respectable civil servant and Gold could see her perhaps making a name for herself in politics if she learned to control her impulsiveness and her temper. Much like Neal, Regina sometimes lost focus of her long-term goals and allowed feelings to cloud her judgment.

Perhaps her greatest asset, though, was to have Sidney Glass in the palm of her hand. That man was infatuated with her and not even Cora's reputation would get him to change sides. It hadn't until now. She'd do anything for Regina Mills. If she did decide to run, she'd have the support of the local press. More than that, she might actually have control over it.

“I'm going to tell you what I told your mother,” he said, before she could completely pull him in. “I don't see what's in it for me.”

“Then you're very shortsighted, or perhaps you're more forgiving than I am.”

“How so?”

“Because I'm offering you the once in a lifetime opportunity to stick it to Cora Mills.”

Gold stared at her without saying a word. He didn't trust himself to speak after such a proposal.

“You can have revenge on the woman who broke your heart and made you the town joke, Gold,” Regina continued. “You can't tell me this isn't tempting.”

If he were to be honest, no. He really couldn't say that she hadn't peaked his interest. If he were to help another candidate – her _daughter_ , nonetheless – Cora would be infuriated. Delightfully so. And if there was someone who could deliver on that promise, it was Regina Mills. As petty as she might be, she was determined and nothing motivated her more than revenge. If she wanted to beat her mother in a political war, then nothing was going to stop her.

“I'm expensive,” he said.

“Does that mean you-”

“It means I'll consider it and I'll get back to you.”

Regina smiled like a shark. He'd never realized how much she resembled her mother until now.

“Think it over, then,” she said. “Call me tomorrow so we can iron out the details.”

Regina didn't shake his hand or wish him a good day, she simply walked out of the office with her chin held high and looking ready to face the world. She was arrogant, believing her promise of retribution to be enough to win him over Cora's promise of loyalty.

The worst part was that it might be.

Gold paced the room, both offers clouding his mind. He wished he could say he wasn't tempted by the prospect of getting back into politics, but that would be a lie. Regardless of what ruse Regina and Cora had used to get his attention, truth was that he missed the work. Real estate, the pawnshop and, yes, fine, even parenting was dull when compared to the career he'd left behind. Politics had always fascinated him. The way crowds could be manipulated into voting a certain way, the way irrelevant, unqualified men could achieve greatness if only they said the right thing. On a great scale, it was a messy, treacherous business, but in a small town like this... every vote felt like a personal victory. He could control Storybrooke into doing his bidding, and he did so many times in the past.

This election, though... there was no better way to put it. This was going to be _bloody_. He expected the sharks to start circling now that Henry was dead, it was only natural that people would jump at the first opportunity of weakness. Cora, as clever as she was, had her work cut out for her, especially if her daughter was going to run as well. Between those two, things were going to get complicated. If either of them reached election day without attempting to assassinate the other he'd be very surprised.

He took Henry's picture from the desk, his round face and smile denoting just how harmless he was. Henry had been a rare brand of politician – an honest one – and he'd made a name for himself through hard work and keeping his promises. So much so that no one had opposed him on his second run. Cora and Regina, on the other hand, would have an honest to god old-fashion race. There was nothing harmless about those two.

It was going to be _fun_. And he could be a part of it.

“You just had to die, didn't you, you spineless bastard?” Gold said, staring at the picture.

“Good thing you weren't in charge of the eulogy.”

He turned around to see Belle French coming in and closing the door behind her.

“Sorry,” he said, putting the picture down. “It's been a long day.”

“It has, yes. Is Gideon feeling better?”

“He's fifteen. These things are always hard for children.”

“For everyone, I suppose.”

“Yes. Thank you for looking after him.”

“Of course. He's a sweetheart.”

She smiled at him. Gold found himself smiling back, though he had no reason to.

“I have to take the boys home, excuse me.”

She blocked his way, though without the aggressiveness Regina might have showed had she done the same.

“I was... wondering if I could borrow a moment of your time,” she asked, tentative and polite but very eager.

“Does it have to be right now?” he asked. At this point, all he wanted was a long shower and not to think about the Mills family at least until the following morning.

Belle hesitated. “No, not if it will inconvenience you but... I just saw Regina leave the room and I'm afraid I might miss my opportunity if I don't speak now.”

He eyed his watch. They were nearing five o'clock. But she had been kind enough to look after Gideon when he'd been too busy with Cora, that should at least grant her five minutes.

“If you promise to speak quickly,” he asked.

“Of course, yes.” Belle cleared her throat. “You see, I think Regina asked you for something that I wanted to ask as well.”

“I doubt it.” He dared to give her a lopsided smile. “Unless you're thinking of running for Mayor?”

“I am.”

“You are what?”

“I am thinking of running for Mayor,” she said, her voice decided and firm though she continued to fidget with her hands. “And I need a campaign manager.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

It hadn't been his intention to stare at the girl but Gold couldn't help it. Was this her idea of a joke?

“You want to run for Mayor?” he repeated. The words didn't sound any less ludicrous coming from his lips.

Her answer was an unwavering, “Yes,” and Gold didn't know what to say. Belle French didn't look like a politician. She barely looked like a grown woman. Yes, he knew she was only a couple of years younger than Regina but her round face and bright, trusting eyes gave her a childish look. It was hard to think of her as anything more than a sweet girl.

“I believe I can bring real change to this town and continue the good work that Henry started,” she said.

Gold smirked. Had Cora put her up to this? Was she trying to force his hand into making a decision?

 _See, you could be stuck with someone like_ her _. Wouldn't you like to work with a_ real _politician again?_ , a voice like Cora's whispered inside his head. And it did have a point.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle asked, after a moment of silence. “Did you hear me?”

“I did,” he nodded. “Real change, yes, it's very... noble, I suppose.”

Belle noted the sneer in his voice and said, “Please, don't be condescending. I'm serious.”

“Pardon me,” he said. “I just find it hard to believe you have an interest in politics.”

“Why?”

Gold didn't think she'd take “You just don't look it” as a reasonable answer but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

“I think today was the longest we've ever talked to each other,” she said. “And it lasted about fifteen minutes.”

There was nothing to say to that. Their interactions were usually restricted to when he came by to collect rent, both being polite and pleasant but neither wanting to prolong it. He found her pleasant enough but Gold had never been one to indulge in small talk. Right now, he wished he had. If only he knew a little more about Belle French he could make his case against her ridiculous idea.

“I've been going to town meetings for the past five years,” Belle said.

“Lots of people do-'

“To every one of them?”

“No,” he sighed at the obstinate girl. “Not to every one.”

“Most people only show up when they want to complain about something. Henry was always there, though,” she continued. “He was involved like that. Regina came as well, though I had the impression she was only trying to support her father. Cora came by whenever someone important was involved.”

“I don't recall ever seeing you there.”

Belle raised her eyebrows at him and Gold thought he'd caught her in a lie when she said, “That's because you only came to a meeting once, last July. I couldn't make it but I listened to the recording later. You and Ingrid spent about two hours going back and forth about a bad smell coming from your shop.”

He tried not to look impressed at her memory or her dedication.

“Even so,” he insisted. “Being a good citizen with a lot of free time in your hands doesn't qualify you to run this town.”

“Why not? I care about what happens to it, especially now that Henry is gone-”

“What will happen to it is what always happens, Miss French. It will move on,” he said, ready to bring the subject to an end. “And if you want my advice, you'll do best to keep away from politics, especially now. This town is about to become a powder keg.”

Instead of discouraging her, that only seemed to make her more determined, as if he'd just proved her point.

“Exactly! Cora and Regina are going to turn this into their personal battle ground. Anyone who's paying attention can see that. And they won't hesitate to set this town on fire just to get what they want.”

“And why should I care?” he asked. “Because I live here?”

“Because you own most of town,” she answered, having clearly thought this through and decided that Gold had no love for their little town, but he did have a business to run. “This can't be good for real estate.”

She had a point, but he wasn't ready to admit it just yet. “Real estate will be fine. You, on the other hand, I'm not so sure.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you're a librarian with no experience in office running against two of the most vicious women I've ever met.”

Her eyes hardened. “Need I remind you that the library was left to the moths before I campaigned to have it reopened? I started going to town meetings, over and over, trying to get everyone involved. I filed the paperwork, I collected funds, I rallied people, I read the town chart, back to cover, until I knew it by heart. I spent an entire _year_ fighting bureaucracy and the Deputy Mayor's stubbornness because she didn't think it should be a priority. And then I had to spend another four years working for scraps and asking for donations just to keep it open. _I_ did that, Mr. Gold.”

Gold growled under his breath, turning away from her to pace the room. She was determined, he'd give her that. He'd never mistaken her for someone without a brain, quite the opposite, but good intentions would mean nothing when Cora and Regina came for her head.

“What does your fiance think of all of this?” he asked. Perhaps the young man would be on his side.

Belle stared at him, annoyed for the first time. “Would you like me to get my father's blessing as well?”

“I didn't mean-”

“Mayor Mills supported me. That is enough for me.”

“You talked to Henry about this?”

“I did. A few times. He'd often single me out after town meetings, ask how the library was doing, say he was sorry they couldn't do more for it.” She shrugged. “I guess you can blame him for putting the idea in my head. He asked if I had any interest in politics, that was last year. I've been thinking about it for a while. Now, I know I don't have proof of-”

“No, that sounds like something Henry would do,” Gold said, glaring at Henry's picture again. _You keep complicating my life, don't you?_

Henry had never been particularly good at making decisions with his head. That was how he ended up with Cora, a woman with no money and no name. Gold could see him taking this young lady under his wing and nurturing her idealistic spirit.

“We talked again last week. It was the last conversation we had,” she continued. “He told me he was going to retire once his term was over. But, if I wanted to run, he was going to endorse me.”

“Over his wife or his own daughter?”

“I don't know about Cora but he didn't want Regina to run. He said it wouldn't make her happy.”

It was hard to picture Henry standing up to Cora. He couldn't even divorce her when she'd given him plenty of reason to.

“He told me I should speak to you,” Belle said, silencing his thoughts. “He said you are heartless but that I'd need you. You'd make me into a politician, like you made him.”

“That softhearted moron,” he muttered. He'd told Neal Henry never laughed at other people's misfortunes, but somehow he _knew_ he was up in some heavenly cloud, looking down at him and laughing his ass off.

“You don't believe me?” Belle asked, fully prepared to deal with his skepticism.

“On the contrary, I think that's entirely in character.”

Belle looked at him eagerly. Like this, she looked even younger.

“Why do you want to run at all, girl?”

“I'm not a girl.”

He ignored her. “You don't seem to have a lot of political ambition.”

“With all due respect, neither do you.”

“Is that so?”

“You've been in this town for twenty years and you were responsible for electing the last four Mayors.”

 _Look who's done her homework?,_ Gold thought.

“That is correct.”

“Seven years ago, you stopped.”

“You know why.”

“I didn't ask why. I will repeat the question I asked you at the church, though: why did you refuse to help Albert Spencer when he wanted to run for Governor?”

“Because Albert Spencer is an entitled old man who think he's more clever than he actually is.”

“True. But I don't buy it.”

“How so?”

“I think you're a practical man. You don't need to elect a Governor or a President. All you want is to control our little corner of the world. Before what happened with Henry, Mayors had been owing you favors for a very long time.”

“Are you offering me a favor?” he asked. As far as paychecks went, that was the lowest he'd ever been offered.

“No, I'm just stating the facts,” she said. “I have no political ambition, but neither do you. I want what is best for this town, and you want what is best for your sons, and yourself. I think you know that, in the long run, I'm more reliable than Cora or Regina.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Well, I'm less likely to stab you in the back.”

Gold chortled. “That's only because you're so...” He gestured at her vaguely. “ _Nice_.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn't a compliment, especially given what you want to do.”

“So you'll... think about it?” she asked, hopeful for the first time.

“I don't need to think about it, I'm not doing it.”

Her face fell. “But... Mr. Gold-”

Gold cut in before she could argue. “These women are angry. They will play dirty and they tear you apart, limb by limb – not because they feel threatened, mind you. They'll do it just because they can. It will amuse them. You don't want to be involved in this mess.”

“This is exactly when people should get involved!” she protested. “Henry understood.”

“Henry was a fool. Always had been.”

“I'll run either way,” Belle said, making her words sound almost like a threat.

“You won't last five minutes.”

“I better make the best of my five minutes, then.”

Gold opened his mouth to warn her against it again but didn't. She looked more resolute than ever.

“Do whatever you want, then,” he said, walking around her to get to the door. “Just don't say I didn't warn you.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

The boys were already inside the car and Neal signaled through the window for him to move faster. Gold had a bad feeling about that. As soon as he took the passenger seat, his fears were confirmed as Neal pointed at two champagne bottles he'd hidden in the back seat.

“I told you not to nick anything,” Gold sighed.

“I know, but Emma was feeling nostalgic and I couldn't say no.”

“I think there's a special place in hell for people who steal from grieving widows,” Gideon said, sounding perkier than before.

“If there is such a place, then Cora will probably be in charge of it,” Neal said and started the car.

Gold shook his head. “Please tell me you didn't make your little brother an accomplice...”

“No, he just gave me judgmental glares at a distance.” Seeing that his father was still displeased with that turn of events, he added, “Cheer up, it's your favorite. We just have to, you know, leave quickly before anyone notices it's missing.” He steered the wheel, eyes glued to the mirrors, expecting the caterers to come running out of the house and chase the car down the street. Once it became clear he'd gotten away with petty theft, he asked, “So, what did Regina want?”

“Nothing,” Gold answered. “It doesn't matter.”

“Was she mean to you again?” Gideon asked. Gold was happy to see he'd pocketed his little notebook and taken out his cellphone. For a teenager, he didn't spend nearly as much time on that device as he'd deem healthy. His brother couldn't put the blasted thing down when he was his age.

“No, she got it all out of her system. She only wanted to talk.”

“You look upset, father.”

“Do I? I'm not. I'm just tired. It was a long day.”

He saw Neal and Gideon exchanging a look on the rear view mirror.

“What now?” he asked. “If any of you ask me again if I have feelings for Cora, you're both walking home.”

“No, it's not that,” Neal said. “Gid and I just have a theory.”

“Yes?”

Another exchange of looks.

“Well...” Neal said. “It occurred to us that Regina might want to run for Mayor now that her father's dead.”

“Everybody wants to run for Mayor,” Gold grunted, not really giving them an answer.

“We also think,” Neal continued, “that she wanted to talk to you because she wanted you to be her campaign manager.”

“She did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Both boys looked at him with annoyance. He still feigned ignorance.

“And did you agree to do it?” Neal pressed.

Gold opened his mouth to say he wasn't sure, but the answer that came out was, “No, it's not worth it.” When he saw Neal and Gideon relaxing visibly, he realized that “no” was really the only acceptable answer to the Mills' proposition. Politics was a circus and it hadn't been easy on them the first time around. The long hours, the prying press – a divorce, on top of everything else – and then it all culminated in his father's affair being the talk of the town.

They wouldn't want to go through that again. Hell, Gold didn't want to go through that again.

“Good,” Neal said. “That's good, dad. We were worried they might rope you up into this mess.”

“I'm never getting involved with that family again. Professionally, or otherwise. Besides, raising you both is a full-time job.”

Neal threw him a glance. “I think you mean me.”

“I do, but I was trying to be impartial.”

“We weren't buying it,” Gideon said, with the tiniest smile.

Even Neal laughed at that and they drove in silence for a little while.

After a couple of blocks, Neal asked, “What did you mean when you said everybody wants to run for Mayor?”

“Cora is going to do it as well.”

Gideon hissed. “That's going to get ugly.”

“No kidding,” Neal agreed. “I pity whoever gets in the middle of those two.”

“You should pity Belle French, then. She wants to run as well.”

Neal frowned. “Is that a joke?”

“Might as well be.”

“Belle French? The town _librarian_?”

“Yes.”

“Oh no...” Gideon sighed, full of sympathy.

“ _Why_?”

“She wants the town to be in good hands and to keep up the... community spirit, or something equally idiotic.”

“Dad...” Neal said, nodding imperceptibly at Gideon. _Keep the cynicism to a minimum, there's a baby in the car_.

Gideon wasn't paying attention, though.

“Poor Belle,” he said. “She doesn't deserve this.”

“Yes, well,” Gold said. “She shouldn't get involved in this to begin with. That's what I told her.”

“Why not?” Gideon asked.

“She doesn't have what it takes, Gideon. She's too... soft.”

“She does have good intentions, though,” Neal granted.

“Good intentions don't win elections, son. Besides, she's inexperienced.”

“So was Henry.”

“That's different.”

“Because Henry was a man?” Gideon asked.

“No, not because he was a man” Gold said. It wasn't entirely true, but getting into the topic of gender in politics would be too exhausting at that point so he said, “Because inexperience is a deal breaker.”

“I just ask because, according to you, Henry's greatest accomplishment before he was elected was, and I quote, 'being a wealthy man's son'.”

“The kid has a point. You did say that. Several times.”

“He came from a family of politicians,” Gold reminded them. “He'd never held office before but he understood what he was getting into. Belle does not.”

Neal shook his head. “I don't know, she put a lot of work in that library. Collecting funds, getting the people interested-”

“Yes, and working for scraps and fighting bureaucracy. She told me.”

“So she talked to you?”

“We bumped into each other on my way out – why are you driving so slowly?”

“I'm not,” Neal said, though they were now at 15 mph. He clearly wanted to stall this conversation. “So that was it? Bumped into each other?”

“Yes, drive faster.”

“So she didn't ask you to...”

“What?”

“Help her?”

“Oh!” Gideon said. “You should help her!”

“What?”

“Yes, you should be her campaign manager.”

Gold looked at the both of them and said, “Are you insane?”

“Hey, I didn't say anything,” Neal protested, though he had a smile on his face now. “But the kid does have a point.”

“Yes, father, think about it. She's the best choice for the town and you're the only chance she's got.”

“I don't care about the town.”

“Dad...” Neal said, in the same reproachable tone he'd used moments before.

“No, I stand by what I said. What has this town ever done for our family other than whisper behind our backs and allow their children to torment the two of you?”

The boys remained quiet.

Gold looked out of the window. “Were it not for the real estate business, I'd have taken you both and moved away from here seven years ago.”

They were silent for a moment. Then Neal stopped the car altogether in the middle of the road.

“Neal, will you _please_ -”

“No, no, just listen. This could change things for us.”

“How so?”

“You're helping maintain Henry Mills' legacy-”

“After sleeping with his wife.”

“Aaaand you're going to help elect the best candidate.”

“The _florist's daughter_?” he pointed out. “Really? That's the best candidate? And I thought this town was as pathetic as it could get.”

“Against Cora _and_ Regina? Yes, she's the best candidate, by a long shot! At least people like her better. Besides, it's not like you're not bored out of your mind.”

“I'm not bored.”

Even Gideon scoffed at that. “You're knitting.”

“I like knitting!”

“What you like is a challenge,” Neal said. “And this is a big one.”

“That might be, but I know better than to bet on the underdog.”

“That's not true! You adopted Gideon!”

“Neal!”

“No, he's got a point!” Gideon agreed, jumping forward to join the conversation. “I was a tall little weirdo who didn't speak and you totally adopted me!”

“You, put your seat belt back on; and you, get back to driving and don't be mean to your little brother. You're both unbelievable,” he said as Neal started the car again. “Five minutes ago you were glad I turned Regina and Cora down. Now, not only do you want me to do it, you want me to join the one candidate that stands no chance in this mess.”

“This is different! We like Belle, don't we, Gid?” Neal said, still driving way too slowly for his taste.

“Yeah, Belle's great!”

“You can't let her walk into the lions den alone.”

“Besides,” Gideon said, “she's just a small town girl who wants to make some real changes. What's wrong with that?”

Gold tried not to picture it in his mind but it came to him, clear as day. Belle's bright smile on a campaign poster, her face a little too youthful to be taken seriously, but still the picture of honesty and reliability where Cora and Regina could only show themselves as strong. A blue dress to match her eyes but golden letters to frame her face.

_BELLE FRENCH_

_SMALL TOWN_

_BIG CHANGES_

She'd take some work but he always did love a challenge.

“Ooooh, he's coming around,” Neal said.

Gideon gave him the biggest smile he'd seen all day.

“I'm not coming around.”

“Yes, you are.” Neal gasped like he'd suddenly had an epiphany. “Oh my god, what if I worked with you?”

“You what?”

“Yes! You'll do your campaign managing thing and I'll... I don't know, help with research and handing out pamphlets. I can _make_ pamphlets! It would make things cheaper and you're always telling me I need to find a job that I love.”

“This isn't something you can dip your toe in and decide you hate in a couple of months,” Gold said. “These things are serious, they need commitment.”

“No, no, I know. But Belle is my friend and you know I'd never bail on a friend. This might actually work.”

That much was true. Despite all his shortcomings, his son was loyal.

“So you boys want me to jump right into the lions den with Miss French, is that right?”

Gideon shrugged in the rear view mirror. “It's not like your reputation could get any worse anyway.”

“He has a point.”

Gold shook his head.

_Small town, big changes._

“If I were to do this-”

Neal cried out, “We've convinced him!” and offered his brother a hand for a high-five. Gideon slapped it, shouting, “Yes, we did!”

“No, you didn't!” Gold insisted. “This is all just speculation. But if I _were_ to do this, they might come after you.”

“I'd be on my best behavior.”

“Yes, so would I, father.”

“That's great to hear, Gideon, but I was talking to your brother.”

Neal didn't seem to care. “I won't get into trouble. Promise. Besides, who knows?” Then he gave his father big, puppy eyes, something Gold detested because he could never say no to. “Maybe this is what I need to get my life back on track...”

“Oh!” Gold growled. “Oh! You cheat, that is- that is a low blow!”

The boys were looking at him.

“I promise to think about it if you drive faster,” he said.

The boys didn't insist anymore but Neal did as he was told with a smile on his face. In three minutes, they were home.

 

 

 

After careful examination, Gold came to the conclusion that he was getting old. That was the only way he could explain the terrible mistake he was about to make. If he were his regular, cynical self, he'd stay the hell away from this election. He might even heed Ella Feinberg's advice and take the boys on a long trip until things calmed down. Instead, he was allowing his sons – sentimental teenagers who had no idea how the world truly worked – to shame him into a bad decision.

 _This household is lost if they're the ones calling the shots_ , he thought, phone in hand as he punched in the last number he ever thought he'd need.

Belle French answered on the first ring with a measured, “Yes?”

She had his number and had to know it was him calling but their encounter the previous afternoon must have curtailed her hopes a bit. There wasn't a hint of expectation in that one word. Gold took in a deep breath. No turning back now.

“Do you really want to be Mayor?”

There was a little gasp on the other side of the line and Gold listened careful for her reaction. All she said was, “I do,” with much more conviction than he'd expected to hear.

“It's a serious question, Miss French,” he said. “If this is your idea of a hobby, or if you're just doing it to prove something-”

“I want to do this, Mr. Gold. I've been thinking about it for over a year now and I know that I can do it. I know what I'm getting myself into.”

“You think you do but you have no idea. This isn't going to be a normal election, not with those two in the run. And Albert Spencer is also considering it but I don't think he'll have the guts to go through with it. If you waited another four years-”

“In another four years it will be harder, I don't want to be against them when they're trying for reelection.”

“Well thought,” he admitted. “You really are a clever girl.”

“I'm not a girl, but thank you.”

“You'll come to my shop on Monday and we'll have an honest talk.”

“I look forward to it.”

“You shouldn't. It won't be fun. And we need to find a way to fund your campaign quickly, I doubt you'll be able to cover my fees otherwise.”

“Good. Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“Thank my idiot sons who think you've got a chance.”

“I do have a chance now,” she said, full of confidence. “We're going to win this, Mr. Gold.”

Belle spoke with such confidence that Gold was taken aback. Despite knowing better, he discovered that he actually believed her.

Yes... yes, they were going to win this. Together.

 


End file.
